


Language Lessons, 23; wabi sabi

by ImpOfPerversity



Series: Language Lessons [23]
Category: Baroque Cycle - Neal Stephenson, Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)
Genre: 1 Sentence Fiction, Languages, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-07
Updated: 2007-01-07
Packaged: 2018-11-12 12:12:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11161590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpOfPerversity/pseuds/ImpOfPerversity





	Language Lessons, 23; wabi sabi

  
  
Accidents will happen, and some of the worst of 'em happen at sea, so Jack Sparrow's not unduly put out when he hears the sharp crack of breaking glass that signifies the demise of one of the few possessions that he's kept with him nigh as long as he's been at sea: a rich, green scent gradually permeates the cabin, but only augments the smell that was already there, that of sweet herbed oil heated by skin and by friction, this latter being a source of considerable distraction to Jack Sparrow given that it's produced by the movement of his own body against that of Mister Jack Shaftoe, by the slide of Shaftoe's yard into Jack's arse, by the slow teasing work of Shaftoe's hand on Jack's prick, by the mingling of their sweat on Jack's chest, their breath against Jack's mouth, and by each distinct point of contact between the two of them -- Jack's arm 'round Shaftoe's taut waist, Shaftoe's knee nudging Jack's thigh, Shaftoe's free hand tangled in Jack's hair -- and under the circumstances, Jack really can't bring himself to care a jot for anything save the relentless fucking that he's getting from Jack Shaftoe, the imminence of their mutual release (smoothed and accelerated by the jar of oil, certainly; but they're in port, and he can send one of the lads a-market for more) and, and … Jack loses the ability to think in words for a while, and those that first return to him are simple ones, like 'Jack' and 'love' and a deep laughing groan that isn't necessarily a word but should be, as it's the perfect description of his current state of well-being -- never mind that his arse aches, and he can feel the marks of Shaftoe's teeth in diverse other parts of his anatomy -- and good humour: nevertheless, there's a point of principle at stake here, and once Jack has recovered the power of multisyllabic speech (somewhat before Shaftoe's moans and sighs have begun to string themselves into actual words) he props himself up on one elbow and says, "You needn't think you're going to get away with that, Jack, simply by distracting me at the moment of _disintegration_ ;" "Get away with what?" demands Jack Shaftoe, grinning and yawning at the same time, turning his bold blue gaze on Jack in a parody of polite disbelief; "That," explains Jack, gesturing at the shards of green glass strewn across the deck, "the wanton destruction of a cherished gift," which isn't entirely a lie since he certainly never _paid_ for the jar; "not to mention," he adds, "the very real inconvenience that's likely to arise from our having no means of … lubrication," at which Shaftoe grins wider and swipes his red tongue slowly from one corner of his mouth to the other, a sight which makes Jack's prick twitch against his sticky thigh: "I'll find some alternative," Shaftoe assures him, his eyes sparking, but Jack pouts anyway because, aside from Shaftoe's teasing tongue and the glairy mess that decorates his own belly, there's no lubricity (haha) to be had at all, and thus his plans for the rest of the evening will have to be amended (though all of Jack's plans are flexible enough to admit constant invention and innovation, especially where Mr Shaftoe's concerned): "Tell you what," offers Shaftoe, looking as though butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, "I'll find you another," and with dismaying enthusiasm he's out of the cot, naked in the lamplight, swearing as he treads on a crescent of emerald glass; Jack would happily clean the wound for him (and then, no doubt, would proceed to clean -- and then redirty -- other areas of Shaftoe-skin) but Shaftoe seems determined, clumsy with pent-up energy in a way that makes Jack feel deliciously languorous to watch; it can't be five minutes before he's out of the cabin, stamping up the companionway to the deck, shouting for a boat, while Jack lounges back in the scented cabin (the green smell overlaid by salty, musky notes) and listens to the sound of water 'gainst the hull of his _Pearl_ : "Wake up!" cries Jack Shaftoe suddenly, and Jack realises that he's dozed off -- hardly surprising for a man exhausted by the wiles of Mr Shaftoe, who'd slept uninterrupted while Jack conned the _Black Pearl_ into harbour against a vicious easterly -- and that he's sprawled, still, in the damp and dirty sheets, while Shaftoe stands before him fully clothed and emanating good cheer (not to mention rum, the headiness of which wafts from him most delightfully) and brandishing something small and gleaming and ivory-coloured; "I've brought you a present, Jack," he declares, and Jack raises an eyebrow and looks Shaftoe up and down -- always a worthwhile exercise, and remarkably often inductive of, oh yes, that hot blue stare, that slow blink -- before bringing his gaze to the object in Shaftoe's hand; "'Tis a jar," says Shaftoe unnecessarily, "and I'm told that it's centuries old, brought up from the bottom of the sea a mile or so offshore, where the locals habitually dive for sunken treasure -- though chances are it was knocked off yesterday in a shed 'round the back of the market, an' aged up with a brew of tea and piss," at which Jack can't resist a grin for this new insight into Jack Shaftoe's insalubrious (yet undeniably innovative) past; "trading in antiquities, Mr Shaftoe?" he says, and Shaftoe blinks at him again and said, "O, you're not so _very_ much older --" but Jack bares his teeth and interrupts, "what's in the jar?" to which, in answer, Shaftoe lifts the lid -- there's a blue flower painted on it -- and lets a hot, dark scent free upon the air, drowning the fading scent of the spilled oil; "I'm told," murmurs Shaftoe, leaning down over the bed, not quite touching Jack anywhere but close enough for his warm breath to caress Jack's skin, "that this'll keep a man ready all night, if it's used rightly," to which Jack retorts, "And you've memorised the instructions, I take it?", and then, as Shaftoe beams and nods, "I sh'll enjoy testing it out, Mr Shaftoe -- though I suggest that _you_ should be on the _receiving_ side of matters, seeing as you've gone to such trouble (not to mention, I'm sure, considerable expense) to acquire it," and when Shaftoe starts to protest, Jack pulls him down and kisses him, the little pottery jar falling to the bed at his side: "Careful!" protests Shaftoe, surfacing, "it's chipped already, though 'twas the finest of the lot: see?" and Jack Sparrow feigns fleeting interest in the flaw before pulling his Jack to him again and murmuring, "they've a word, or rather two words, for it in these parts, Jack: **wabi sabi** , signifying beautiful imperfection," to which Shaftoe puts his mouth to the blackened ball-scar on Jack's chest and looks up at him from under those long dark lashes, saying, "if that's so, Jack, then you and I are lovelier -- because so much more scarred and marred and _imperfect_ \-- than the finest ladies in the Sultan's harem," and Jack stares back at Shaftoe, breath catching at the sight of him, and can only nod.  
[](http://pics.livejournal.com/viva_gloria/pic/00005pth/)  
Many thanks to [](http://choose2live.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://choose2live.livejournal.com/)**choose2live** for pointing out what such a jar might be useful for ...  
EDIT: points to anyone who can spot the deliberate mistake ...!


End file.
